


may you be always breathtaking

by earlymorningechoes



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Boats and Ships, F/F, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Merribela Week, Pre-Femslash, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22905001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlymorningechoes/pseuds/earlymorningechoes
Summary: Isabela and Merrill commandeer (ahem,borrow) a fishing boat for a little calm adventure.
Relationships: Isabela/Merrill (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	may you be always breathtaking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Merribela Week on tumblr!
> 
> The title is from Goodnight New York by Vienna Teng.

“Ahh, I do miss the sea,” Isabela says, dropping to a seat so her legs dangle off the end of the pier and leaning into the frankly putrid wind coming off the harbor. The slowly setting sun highlights her dark skin and hair, giving both a golden shine.

Merrill wrinkles her nose, both at the comment and the odor. “I sure don’t.” She plops down cross-legged next to Isabela, fidgeting to get comfortable. Or as comfortable as one can, on splintery dock boarding. “It smells horrid. And I was sick the whole time we were on the ship, I think I told you before.”

Isabela nods, but she doesn’t turn around. “You were belowdecks the whole time, you said. That’s no way to travel. And the smell?” She takes a deep breath, laughing. “Smells like freedom.”

“How can something smell like freedom?” Merrill asks. She tries to take a deep breath of her own, but she’s coughing over the stench almost before she’s started. Small, shallow breaths get her back in order, and she shakes her head. “Even if freedom did have a smell, I don’t think it smells like that!”

“Hey now!” Isabela does turn around at that, pretending to be affronted. “You just haven’t had a good taste of freedom. Come on, I have an idea.” Standing, she reaches down to pull Merrill to her feet.

“Where are we going?” Merrill grabs her staff from the pier, hurrying after Isabela. “Can I get a hint? Are we going to the Hanged Man? Varric talks about freedom too, but not like you do.”

No response. Merrill follows anyways, keeping close to Isabela - she’s gotten lost on the docks before, and it’s definitely not one of her favorite places. Even if it is the best place to find Isabela.

The docks aren’t endless, though, and suddenly they’re at the marina for smaller craft, tucked in a corner away from the larger ships dominating the harbor skyline. With the sun so close to the horizon, the marina’s crowded, fishermen coming back in for the evening to tie up their boats. Merrill holds one hand over her eyes to shade them from the sun, squinting at the many humans and occasional elf or dwarf milling over the marina.

“Astith!” she calls, when she recognizes the man who lives across the street from her. “Good evening!”

A fairly broad-shouldered elf looks up at the sound of his name. “Hullo, Merrill. Good evening to you too,” he calls back.

A grin on her face, Isabela grabs Merrill’s hand and pulls her towards Astith. “Can we borrow your boat?” she asks, no preamble.

His eyes go wide, and Merrill gasps. “Isabela! You can’t just take someone’s boat!”

“I’m not _taking_ , I’m _borrowing_ ,” she huffs. But she holds up a coin - a whole silver - and Astith’s eyes go even wider somehow. “Just for an hour. I’ll bring her back safe.”

“Merrill? Or the boat?” he asks, reaching for the coin.

She snatches it back. “Rude!” It rolls between her fingers, so fluidly it looks like it’s of its own accord, before falling into the palm of her hand. She holds it back out. “Both.”

Something warm spreads in Merrill’s chest, and she almost misses Astith’s response. “Deal. An hour. And safe.” He steps back from the boat, and Isabela climbs in.

The warmth drains back out, replaced with dread. “Isabela. I don’t want to go sailing with you.” Merrill’s hands twist together. Isabela usually listens. This isn’t like her.

“This isn’t sailing,” she responds automatically, then looks up into Merrill’s unhappy face. Her own face softens. “I want to show you a little of why I love the water. It’s better when you’re not stuck in the hold. Even if this doesn’t hold a candle to my ship. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

The little boat bobs in the calm water of the marina. The sun drifts behind a cloud and sends a brilliant streak of red across the sky, reflected in the gently rolling water out past the docks. And Merrill finds herself stepping into the boat, leaning hard into Isabela to keep from falling. It feels like an inevitability, sitting in this dingy little boat in the nasty miasma of the harbor, and Merrill is almost giddy.

“So, where to?” she asks. Isabela pulls on the oars, picking the boat’s path out between all the other little fishing vessels moored nearby. A small swell rocks the boat to one side, and Merrill’s hands shoot out to grip the sides. “Oh!”

“We’re just fine, Kitten,” Isabela says, an easy smile spread across her face. “We’re not going anywhere specific. Just away. For a minute.”

“How far does an hour get us?”

Isabela looks up, out past the Gallows and to the Twins at the mouth of the harbor, her strokes of the oars more rhythmic now they’re out of the maze of boats. “In this little thing? To the Twins and back, maybe. It would be faster if the damned Gallows weren’t in the way.” Her mouth turns down, and Merrill wishes she could read her thoughts. “But that’s not why we’re here. How are you feeling?”

Merrill opens her mouth, ready to say _terrified_ and _unhappy_ , and closes it again when she realizes neither of those are true. “Nervous,” she says instead, “mostly nervous.”

“Can you swim?”

The apparent non-sequitur makes Merrill blink. “Um. A little? We were near a lake once. The Keeper had some of the hunters who knew how teach everyone a little, so we wouldn’t drown.”

A breeze picks up, playing with the ends of Merrill’s braids and Isabela’s kerchief, and Isabela turns her face into it. “I’ll have to teach you more sometime. You’ll be less nervous out here if you’re confident you can take care of yourself if something goes wrong.” The breeze strengthens, threatening to snatch Isabela’s scarf away.

It doesn’t stink so much, this far away from the docks, Merrill realizes. She turns her own face into the wind, giggling as it whips her braids around each other.

“Feel that?” Isabela asks, her voice quiet. Reverent, almost. “That’s freedom.”

Merrill takes a deep breath, in and out slowly, and grins at Isabela. “It doesn’t smell, though.”

Isabela blinks for a moment, not remembering, then snorts with laughter. “You rascal!” She flicks one of the oars, sending a small spray of water up at Merrill, who shrieks and dissolves into giggles.

They come back much more than an hour later, still laughing.


End file.
